The Caxtons: A Family Picture — Volume 07 — John Shaqi
The Caxtons: A Family Picture — Volume 07Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
General
The Caxtons: A Family Picture — Volume 07
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
English fiction -- 19th century; Families -- Fiction
mind could prosecute that kind of mental ambition which overflowed in
him, and yet had never had its vent. And Ellinor!---Heaven forbid I
should say she loved me, but something made me think she could do so.
Under these notions, suppressing all my hopes, I made a bold effort to
master the influences round me and to adopt that career I thought
worthiest of us all. I went to London to read for the Bar."
"The Bar! is it possible?" cried I. My father smiled sadly.
"Everything seemed possible to me then. I read some months. I began to
see my way even in that short time,--began to comprehend what would be
the difficulties before me, and to feel there was that within me which
could master them. I took a holiday and returned to Cumberland. I
found Roland there on my return. Always of a roving, adventurous
temper, though he had not then entered the army, he had, for more than
two years, been wandering over Great Britain and Ireland on foot. It
was a young knight-errant whom I embraced, and who overwhelmed me with
reproaches that I should be reading for the law. There had never been a
lawyer in the family! It was about that time, I think, that I petrified
him with the discovery of the printer! I knew not exactly wherefore,
whether from jealousy, fear, foreboding, but it certainly was a pain
that seized me when I learned from Roland that he had become intimate at
Compton Hall. Roland and Lord Rainsforth had met at the house of a
neighboring gentleman, and Lord Rainsforth had welcomed his
acquaintance, at first, perhaps, for my sake, afterwards for his own.
"I could not for the life of me," continued my father, "ask Roland if he
admired Ellinor; but when I found that he did not put that question to
me, I trembled!
"We went to Compton together, speaking little by the way. We stayed
there some days."
My father here thrust his hand into his waistcoat. All men have their
little ways, which denote much; and when my father thrust his hand into
his waistcoat, it was always a sign of some mental effort,--he was going
to prove or to argue, to moralize or to preach. Therefore, though I was
listening before with all my ears, I believe I had, speaking
magnetically and mesmerically, an extra pair of ears, a new sense
supplied to me, when my father put his hand into his waistcoat.
CHAPTER VI.
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